


Away

by dietplainlite



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Holiday, Secret Relationship, Sherlolly - Freeform, Vacation, beach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2018-02-18 14:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2352002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dietplainlite/pseuds/dietplainlite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt fill for artbylexie.  "Holiday abroad."  <br/>Can be set in the Unnamed Things universe if you squint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Amalia Kensington (amaliak01)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amaliak01/gifts).



Sherlock Holmes is so very English that Molly had harbored a vague apprehension that he might just cease to exist the moment the plane left English air space.  But now here he is, lying in a hammock wearing nothing but a pair of poppy print Bermuda shorts, his cheekbones tinged pink and his nose dotted with freckles like cinnamon on whipped cream, so utterly relaxed as to appear boneless. 

He opens one eye and catches her by the wrist as she walks past.

“Where are you going? You reapplied sunscreen half an hour ago.”

“I’m going to get my book.”

“Dull,” he says, tugging her toward the hammock and nearly tipping out of it as he attempted to make room for her.   

“Sherlock—“

“Nothing like that…right now.  I discovered last night that I enjoy the scent of the sea water mingled with your shampoo.” He tugs her hand again and she relents, curling herself around him and tucking her head under his chin.  His skin is hot against her damp flesh and his fingers tapping lightly on her arm send shivers from the point of contact to her neck to her scalp.

“What are you going to tell John, for his blog?”

“Hmm?” his voice rumbles against her ear, momentarily drowning out the thud of his heart.

“Well you did say we were going abroad for a case and that my presence was absolutely vital. He’s going to want to know what happened.”

“I’ll tell him it’s all classified.”

“He won’t buy that. He’ll want _something_ to report.”

“Then I’ll just knick a mystery from that detective show you like.”

“Which one?”

“The OCD one.”

“Sherlock, John’s blog has thousands of readers, most of whom are really into detective stories.  I bet a couple of them will have seen a few episodes of Monk.”

He’s silent for several minutes and she’s nearly drifted off to the sound of his breath and the incoming tide, when he stops running his hands through her hair and says quietly, “We could always tell the truth.”

“Mmm,” she sighs. His heartbeat quickens beneath her ear. “You’re having too much fun dangling it just out of his reach to just give in and tell him.”

“True, but it’s bloody frustrating not being able to kiss you whenever I want.”

“You’d kiss me in front of John and Mary?”

“Of course.  Why not?”

“I never thought PDA was your area.”

“I can give you a demonstration now.”

“A secluded cottage on a private beach is the exact opposite of public. And hammock sex is not as good in practice as in theory.”  He doesn’t answer.  “You’re imagining he physics right now aren’t you?”

“Well, I think that if I were to stand—“

“I’m going inside. You can join me if you’d like, in that enormous, heavenly king sized bed.  I’ll have my book for company while you finish sorting out your cover story.”

She kisses him on the chest, on the pale, puckered divot above his seventh intercostal space.  She’d once hoarded the knowledge of Sherlock’s living for two years.  She’s been hoarding the knowledge of his body for five months.  The part of her that feels guilt for deceiving John Watson yet again is loudly shouted down by the part of her that has waited, the part of her who sat with the knowledge that if his life were snuffed out despite all her efforts, she’d be starting at square one, alone in her grief, everyone else several stages ahead.

It’s that part of her that says “Let’s keep it to ourselves a little longer.”

In answer, he kisses the top of her head.  As she gets up, he sits up to kiss her more thoroughly but miscalculates and tips them both out of the hammock and into the sand.

“Well,” she says, spitting sand out and pushing him off of her. “Change of plans.  I think we’re both in need of a shower.”

“Could we hold that thought for a half hour or so?” he asks, running a gritty hand down her thigh.

“Sand in unfortunate places, Sherlock. Remember?”

Sherlock winces and sits back on his knees, offering his hand.  “Excellent point, Dr. Hooper.  Shower it is.”


End file.
